


stillborn

by Baruch_HaShem



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Blaming Oneself, Forgiveness, Gen, M/M, Prayer, Stillbirth, dealing with a topic not season compliant, feeling helpless, may be read by some as out of character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-27 06:31:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10803690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baruch_HaShem/pseuds/Baruch_HaShem
Summary: Sherlock helps John deal with the fact he wasn't able to save a baby girl's life.





	stillborn

**Author's Note:**

> **Trigger warning:** This story deals with John's experience after not having been able to prevent a child from dying during childbirth. If you are triggered by anything in connection with this topic, please **don't** read! - I'm _not_ a medical professional, this is strictly fiction!

Feeling numb, John stares out the window of the taxi taking him home. The streets glide by: houses, shops, passersby, traffic lights, trees, ... Right now none of it matters. His insides feel in turmoil: he was not able to save the little girl's life. _Tragic_ , is all he can think.

The taxi comes to a stop. Silently, he hands the driver money for the fare. On the curb, he tries to compose himself before entering 221B. Sherlock doesn't know yet what happened. _Tragic_ , he thinks again.

His heart feels as heavy as his body. Each step up the stairs to their apartment requires effort, seems more difficult than the previous one. Holding on to the railing grounds him. His hand touches real wood, while what just happened within the last few hours, somehow, feels unreal. Yet he knows it's true: he wasn't able to save the little girl's life. _I failed_ , he blames himself.

Opening the door to their apartment, he hears soft music, the aroma of Indian spices fills the air, which reminds him that Sherlock had said he'd be cooking their supper today.

"Hi dear, how was your day?" having heard John's quiet entry, Sherlock greets him from the kitchen.

"Hi," John answers, hanging up his coat. It comes out a bit stiff. Not warm. Not enthusiastic. As it would normally be, had not this little girl just died. He washes his hands in the bathroom sink, rubs some cold water on his face.

"Are you alright, John?" Sherlock asks, sensing the heaviness John brought with him. Still in the kitchen, he turns off the elements, covers their food for later.

John is just coming out of the bathroom when Sherlock comes out of the kitchen. The look of defeat and sadness on John's face makes Sherlock ask, "What happened?" as he wraps his arms around his husband.

Resting his weight against Sherlock, John buries his head by his shoulder, sighs deeply.

"A little girl died. During childbirth. I couldn't help her ...," John's breathing is picking up remembering the medical team's frantic efforts to revive her, the parents voicing concern over the welfare of their daughter, ...

"What happened?" Sherlock asks softly, not letting go of John, stroking his head with one hand.

John is grateful Sherlock is holding him. He doesn't want to cry. He blames himself. He blinks away tears.

"The umbilical cord got wrapped around her neck, somehow, just while she was in the process of coming through ...," he heaves another sigh. "I tried. - We tried. - We couldn't ..."

He remembers the cries of the parents, nurses trying not to cry, the _enormity_ of what had _just_ happened sinking in: a beloved child died during childbirth!?!

"I'm sorry, ...," Sherlock is lost for words, "I'm sorry to hear she died." _This_ is _tragic_ , he concludes, tightening his arms around John.

They stand quietly for a few more seconds, then Sherlock suggests, "Come sit on the couch with me," keeping one arm around John while making their way there.

Part of John feels crushed. He leans his head on Sherlock's shoulder.

"You know, I've been in battle, seen a lot, ... But this, ... this is ...," _wrong_ , _unfortunate_ , he struggles to find the right word, stares into the distance.

"It feels _not right_. - I couldn't help."

"You _did try_ to help. - Please don't blame yourself," Sherlock adds sensing John's profound sadness.

They sit quietly while Sherlock strokes John's shoulder.

"Is there anything we can do?" he asks finally.

John lifts his head off Sherlock's shoulder, looks at him with a tight smile.

"We can pray. For the parents. Their baby girl. Their friends. The medical team."

"You," Sherlock adds.

John nods. If this is all he can do now, he'll do it. He sits up, takes Sherlock's hand.

"Father, I thank you, ..." he starts, trusting that their prayers for healing, peace and comfort will be answered.

~

"Thank you, Sherlock," John squeezes Sherlock's hand after they finish praying, and places a kiss on his cheek. "I love you."

Sherlock nods, squeezes John's hand back. "I love you as well. - Do you feel better?"

John shakes and nods his head. "I just don't understand ... The timing ..."

"Let's eat," Sherlock suggests. "I don't know the answers. We can keep talking in the kitchen."

He gets up, puts small portions of food on their plates, glasses with water are on the table already.

Sinking down on his kitchen chair, "I don't want to talk anymore," escapes John's mouth. He feels very tired, still emotionally drained.

"Did we pray for forgiveness?" Sherlock asks. He knows the importance of forgiveness.

"Hmpf," John smiles, shaking his head. "Right, forgiveness! Forgot! - Thank you, God, ... ... ..."

**Author's Note:**

> Psalm 95:6 "O come, let us worship and bow down: let us kneel before the Lord our maker."


End file.
